I am fickle and arbitrary and seemingly bipolar in my tendencies and reactions and desires. Sometimes I know the thing and just don’t know how to describe or explain, and other times I have no idea what I’m blabbering about but blabber on anyways cause I’m foolish and prideful and extra-human like that (super-human? or super-human?). At best, this comes off as “interesting,” and at worst, frustrating and confusing and manipulative and ugh. Oh yeah, and “pretty jacked up,” if we’re parallel-structuring that quote for that ‘interesting’ up there.
Sometimes, though, people who care about me anyways, despite these ughs, think of me and send along helpful things like this article here.
About mattering and not mattering; simultaneous opposites. The paradox of it speaks to the English major in my soul, and the truth of it tingles those God-feelers. You know, like an insect. Ooh maybe…a…bookworm 😉 which, maybe, should be my spirit insect. [Okay, recover from the tangent.]
Anyways (oh these tangent-recovery anywayses), I dunno much but what I know forsure is that
God sees me in all my smallness and all my bigness, all the same. Same love, same grace, same saving from myself.
And all I gotta say to that is aaaaaaaaaaamen hallelujahhhhhh amen.
to read the inspiration for the babbling above:
Sometimes I feel very, very small.
I feel small when the tasks of the day – even simple tasks – seem to dwarf me when I consider the amount of patience, intelligence, or perseverance they will require. Or when I am able to pry my eyes off myself for a bit and gaze at the world around me only to be confronted with disease. War. Hatred. Slavery. All things that are impossibly big, and all things that make me shrink inside myself even more. Or when I come home and find that my children are growing, and with each day there is a new challenge that I am unequipped to handle. Who am I to guide them through these years? Not small me.
When I feel small, there is the gospel that reminds me that my size and worth is determined by that which was sacrificed for me. And there is no greater sacrifice than that which has been given. Thanks to that sacrifice – His sacrifice – I am not small. I matter. I matter in the kingdom, and I matter in the world. And when you matter these challenges are not to be shrunk away from out of fear but are to be counted with courageous hope.
And oh the glorious freedom of mattering.
But then again, sometimes I feel very, very big.
I feel big when someone notices the hard work or laughs at the witty retort. When the retweets flow like water and the acclaim starts to come. When I look into the eyes of those kids and know that, at least for a while, I am invincible and infallible in their eyes. When there is money in the bank and food on the table and nothing at all seems to be threatening this insulated life we have built for ourselves. Nothing can touch me then. Not big, big me.
When I feel big, there is the gospel that reminds me that I was dead in my sin and transgression, too lost to even know that I was lost. That every supposed righteous thing I might do, say, or think is tainted with my own selfish ambition and vain conceit. That although I might be the instrument that offers the word of peace or comfort to another, I am far from necessary when I consider the hand of the One holding me. That it could just as easily be another who was speaking or writing or talking at a given moment, for God will have His way with or without me.
And then oh, the glorious freedom of not mattering.